Again the line was
blocked; the train stopped again and again. But it had left London behind,
and the last stoppage was in front of a beautiful June landscape. A thick
meadow with a square weather-beaten church showing between the spreading
trees; miles of green corn, with birds flying in the bright air, and lazy
clouds going out, making way for the endless blue of a long summer's day.
XXXII
It had been arranged that William should don his betting toggery at the
"Spread Eagle Inn." It stood at the cross-roads, only a little way from
the station--a square house with a pillared porch. Even at this early hour
the London pilgrimage was filing by. Horses were drinking in the trough;
their drivers were drinking in the bar; girls in light dresses shared
glasses of beer with young men. But the greater number of vehicles passed
without stopping, anxious to get on the course. They went round the turn
in long procession, a policeman on a strong horse occupied the middle of
the road. The waggonettes and coaches had red-coated guards, and the air
was rent with the tooting of the long brass horns. Every kind of dingy
trap went by, sometimes drawn by two, sometimes by only one horse--shays
half a century old jingled along; there were even donkey-carts. Esther and
Sarah were astonished at the number of costers, but old John told them
that that was nothing to what it was fifty years ago.
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